


Don't You Dare

by Bellatrixanima



Category: Tom Hiddleston-Fandom
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, Angst, Bratting, Choking, Consensual Sex, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom Tom Hiddleston, Dom/sub, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Orgasms, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Paparazzi, Past Sexual Assault, Protectiveness, Public Humiliation, Riding, Rough Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Secret Relationship, Self-Insert, Sex on a Car, Smut, Spanking, Writer's Block, Writers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:54:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29433456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellatrixanima/pseuds/Bellatrixanima
Summary: You  work as a reviewer at Midgard Ltd., a publishing house that is going through a very bad economic streak.Your most despised coworker suggests contacting Tom Hiddleston, a well-known writer, full of talent but also a massive jerk, to publish his books and regain prestige.In order to save the company, you two must learn to, at least, tolerate each other. Will you?
Relationships: Tom Hiddleston & Reader, Tom Hiddleston & You, Tom Hiddleston/Reader, Tom Hiddleston/You
Comments: 16
Kudos: 45





	1. On the Verge of Bankruptcy

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is the first fanfic I publish and I'm very excited to do so!  
> Important to mention, English is not my native language, so please be gentle.  
> Any constructive criticism or suggestion is welcome!
> 
> Enjoy!

“So, to sum up, we‘re fucked”

After that, silence.

  
You watched how your CEO got smaller in his chair, with an air of defeat.

  
“Robert, we still have options…Staff reductions, suppress the Christmas’ bonus…”  
“Because those measures don’t affect you, George, you asshole” you spoke. “Your privileged ass is secure as long as there isn’t a reorganization of your department, or your budget…”  
George looked at you with a smirk of superiority, while readjusting his suit.  
“You know what, you fat-”  
“Shut up already” Amelia interrupted, in a stern but firm voice. “The last thing we need is to fight between us. If you are not going to _contribute_ with anything solid, I suggest, to both of you, to keep your mouth shut”

You rubbed your sweaty hands against your skirt, to dry them. She was right, as always.  
The three of you had been called to Robert’s office to discuss the economic situation of the company, and it wasn’t looking good.

Midgard Ltd., a publishing house, was on the verge of bankruptcy.  
It hadn’t always been this way. The editorial had a very well-established trajectory, having published rising authors, other reliable, regular creators and even a few Nobel prizes. Nevertheless, the last couple years had been especially rough, without any bestseller of importance presented, and maintaining the whole structure without that more than considerable flow of money…was complicated. At the first sight of weakness, writers flew to other editorials, desiring to be associated with a strong name.

You hadn’t seen it coming, at least not the sheer scope of it. You were the newly appointed head of the Review Department, after Moira, your supervisor, retired.

You had kept it working smoothly, without any relevant problems. You were young, and a woman, and that was enough to be submitted to the harshest scrutiny.  
When the first economic problems arose, you tackled them by throwing workload on your shoulders. You had translated three whole books to Spanish, French and Italian in order to save money. Instead of contacting an external company, you coordinated the employees under your command. You remembered correcting said books for hours, wanting to keep the standards as high as they had always been for the clientele.

A very audible sigh came from your lips.  
“I believe we need to regain attention, to present some saga or product in order to regain prestige. Money would follow. Robert, Amelia, doesn’t any of our regulars have something of quality to offer?” you asked, passing your gaze from one to the other “Have you contacted them?”

Amelia tapped the table with her pen, discouraged.  
“Nothing. I have only received vague replies. A poetry collection that would be ready, being optimistic, for 2025. A mish-mash of science fiction, a “Fifty Shades” wannabe… Nothing.” she repeated.  
Again, the office was silent.

The four of you were trying to come up with anything that could, at least, help the company short-term and stay afloat. Any measure that implied firing people was out of the question. It was something that you especially valued at Midgard, people were respected, even though George’s department was, most of the times, the exception.

Suddenly, George hit the table, startling you and Robert, who was stroking his grey beard, still worried.  
“You twat!” you shouted.  
“I got it!” he smiled, completely ignoring you. “Robert, do you remember that skinny guy, at the last polo final? Very fine suit? Blue eyes?”  
Robert readjusted his glasses, trying to remember who the man George was referring to was.

Of course. Polo matches. Something Robert and George had in common. Football or rugby were for the masses, they were “gentlemen”. Your middle-class self couldn’t relate.  
You looked at Amelia in solidarity. She rolled her eyes, waiting at Robert’s response.  
“Who? Hiddleston?” Robert asked.  
“Yes!! Wasn’t he looking for a new publishing house? He generated millions at Holter’s, the guy is a genius!” George was red with excitement.  
“Wait, Hiddleston? The author of Suspiria?” Amelia rose her impeccable dark eyebrows. “His novels were really praised both by critics and public. To have him here…Would be the answer to all our problems.”

Suspiria had been the revelation of the last season. A dark novel, which focused on the ups and downs of the relationship between a struggling writer and a mysterious muse. He gave her everything he had in order to obtain fame and recognition, and it was never enough. She was indifferent, even cruel to him, but his adoration never stopped. In a matter of months, all available copies in the city’s bookstores had disappeared. Everyone commented on it, how the protagonist (a self-insert of Hiddleston, you were one-hundred percent sure of it) yearned for the smallest signal from his inconstant muse, to be confident that he was doing things right to obtain glory. Also, the spicy sexual encounters he described only helped to increase the reader’s interest, trying to guess if they were inspired by reality, if the author had relied in his own affairs that were pretty much public knowledge. It was very clever of him, you thought, to use his own image for the sake of success.

Nonetheless, critics praised “the raw way Hiddleston presented the conflict that entrails artistic creation”. Fans stood in line for hours to get his copy signed, and it was even rumoured that Netflix wanted to tempt the writer with a movie.  
You had read the book, and didn’t care to finish it. You find it long, boring, without any spark at all. Hiddleston described the muse like perfection personified. It was a specific pet peeve of yours, male authors that created plain female characters, without any single fucking flaw.

  
“Yes! Robert knows his family, very wealthy people. If we scored a contract with him, we could even expand the company. God, thank me!” George was ecstatic, probably imagining his marble bust in the entrance.  
“Relax, George.” Robert tapped the table in his direction.” You are talking as it everything was already signed and formalized. But it is a very good idea, I can contact him tonight and test the waters.”  
“Y/n, you are extremely quiet at my proposal. Care to comment?” George turned to you, as proud as a peacock.  
“I don’t like neither him, nor his work.” you stated, dryly. “His writing is pretentious and artificial. He only benefits of his family name. Also, he is always in every magazine with some scandal. I don’t think bad reputation is really what we need right now, and that’s what he offers”

You recognized his name, it was impossible not to. He was a thirty-something man that had received the best education money could buy. The youngest son of an aristocratic family, who decided that he wanted the attention of the public completely for himself. The worst part? He had talent. Tons of it. And he knew it.  
Astonishingly attractive, he had appeared in the first page of thousands of gossip magazines, breaking hearts of both actresses and heiresses and it was rumoured that even a few porn stars had enjoyed the comfort of the back seats of his Jaguar.  
You had always defended that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but with this one you could see it coming. The idea of having to deal in the future with his cockiness when reviewing his work…Ugh. You wanted to vomit.

  
“Jesus, y/n!” George laughed “Anyone would say that you are jealous of my idea, that would, dare I say, save the whole company as of today”  
“Fuck off. I can say it openly.” You said. “I think he is a posh boy, blessed with money and a surname that can take him wherever he wants, and he actively chooses to be a selfish brat.”

Robert and Amelia listened to you quietly. After sharing with him a serious look, Amelia decided to speak.  
“Any press is good press, y/n. He may be far from being your favourite author, you have been very clear about it. But right now contacting him is the only viable proposal, and I wish with all my heart it works. Unfortunately, the situation of the company doesn’t allow the option to be picky.”

She was right. And, again, you knew it. You bit your lip while uncrossing your legs.  
“At the end of the day, every one of us has to make sacrifices if we want this situation to improve. As soon as we have a contract with Hiddleston and money starts flowing regularly, we would be able to work with less… controversial writers. I promise.”

You nodded. Robert looked at you in a paternal way, as if you were a child to discipline, but one that would comply and obey authority without question.

George was glowing with pride. In his eyes, he was the hero that would save Midgard. And this time, you even expected that his proposal worked. If not… You didn’t want to imagine.  
“It’s decided then. I’ll call him before supper to schedule a meeting. He may like to visit the office, I don’t know. We’ll see. Whatever comes up, I’ll let you know it in an email.”  
Robert got up and closed his jacket, the signal that marked that the meeting was over.  
You looked at your watch, hoping silently to have the quickest commute back to your apartment. You were tired. It had been a long day.


	2. Speaking of the Devil...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little sneak peak into Y/n 's private life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little inspo of Hiddleston's vacations in Spain...  
> https://tenor.com/es/ver/night-manager-gif-19991915

45 minutes later you were going up the stairs of the building where you lived, almost dying because it didn’t have an elevator. When you went to buy groceries each month it was a real pain in the ass, carrying everything. But whatever.

It was a clean and mostly calm neighbourhood, inhabited in its majority by families and students. Still, it wasn’t cheap.

After leaving your coat and your shoes at the entrance, you knocked softly in your flatmate’s door.

Becca was streaming while playing videogames, full-on concentrated in annihilating some useless bro that thought that she would have mercy. Her face changed upon seeing you appearing.

“Hiiiii!” she smiled, her pink headphones glowing. “I’ve already made dinner, are you hungry?”

“Ugh, yes. When I was coming back my stomach sounded like a fucking whale.”

“Ok, if you give me 15 minutes to destroy these mama’s boys, I’ll join you. Deal?”

“Perfect”

You turned to your room to change into a pair of black old leggings and a green hoodie. Already more comfortable, you stretched in your bed, looking at the ceiling.

It was hard listening from Robert’s lips that the situation of Midgard was critical. At least five hundred jobs were at risk. Including yours.

You had been lucky. What the fuck. You were lucky. Your trajectory was flawless. Just after graduating, getting an interview at Midgard, at 23? Please. Moira had taken you under her wing, and two years later you were head of Department.

It hadn’t been without sacrifice, though. You proved yourself and your superiors to be responsible and reliable by destroying your eyesight correcting hours and hours, dealing with authors that complained when paragraphs that went on for pages were cut, because “it was an artistic choice”, extinguishing fires when necessary. Appeasing their egos was the easiest solution. Then, they melted in gratitude when the book was fresh of the print.

The salary was considerable, but living in the capital was expensive. Even sharing the flat and the overall expenses with Becca, if Midgard filed for bankruptcy, with your actual savings you didn’t know if you could afford living here more than two months, tops.

No matter how much you disliked George’s idea of offering Hiddleston a contract, you had to recognize that it had the potential to fix the editorial’s current problems. Even his weakest book had massive success. A re-edition of Suspiria, for example, would mean to recover the lead in the publishing market.

Very much to your regret, you were willing to work with that trust fund baby if it meant to save the company.

“Y/n! Dinner ‘s readyyyyyy!” Becca called. The most delicious smell made your stomach growl again.

Over a plate of rice with vegetables, you explained the whole situation to Becca.

“…I mean, it pisses me off that in order to not lose my job I have to put up with that posh fucker, but I can look past it, I suppose.”

She nodded with her mouth full, her dagger earrings dancing.

“As I have told you, it’s understandable that you are attached to Midgard, but remember that you can find a much better job easily with your experience. Also, they can fire you in a heartbeat and find a substitute. Always keep that in mind.”

She knew what she was talking about. Becca worked at a videogame’s enterprise, and as soon as someone didn’t keep up, they were out. The months before a release were packed with work and you didn’t see her out of her room for weeks.

“I know. And also, I would really really hate to leave you alone here, bitch” you smiled.

You both had a very curious but funny dynamic.

In Becca’s words, she looked like a radioactive goblin and you like a light academia Pinterest board. And it was kinda true. The difference in aesthetics, of course, not her being a goblin. She was beautiful.

She dressed in black and neon colours, rocking a white buzzcut with green tones, with intricate eyeliner and black lipstick. In the past, she had modelled for a few alternative fashion brands, but she was the happiest with her PC, playing videogames. Her room was dark, sometimes messy. Leaving all that aside, she was a kind and funny person, and you loved having her as your flatmate.

On the other hand, you preferred more classical clothing. Apart from your formal attire for work, you preferred vintage and neutral pieces. Your room also revealed that. The walls were white, and all your furniture had been bought in flea markets, painted and fixed: a full-body mirror, a small closet, the bed structure and a desk with a chair.

The contrast between the two of you was revealed in your common spaces. You could find her Demonia boots in the entrance but relax in a green sofa in perfect condition that you rescued from the trash. She had complained about having to clean it, but it was the comfiest to watch Outlander and Bridgerton in.

“I know. You wouldn’t survive without my fajitas” she laughed.

After finishing dinner, she turned on the TV while you cleaned the plates.

You were thinking about resting the whole weekend, reading and watching series. Maybe a relaxing stroll through a nearby park…

But then your phone buzzed.

An email from Robert.

 **Good** **night,**

**As promised, a brief summary of my conversation with Mr. Hiddleston.**

**He has been very open to our general proposal of publishing his work, although has mentioned that he has some red lines regarding its treatment. They will be specified soon.**

**We have arranged a meeting next Monday morning so he can visit our facilities and debate the contract’s conditions. I hope everyone is in their best behaviour possible to make sure that he feels welcomed and at ease.**

**Regards,**

**Robert Shellman**

**CEO of Midgard LTD. Publishing House.**

Pfff. That last sentence could be easily translated as “George, Y/n, behave and smile. Rip yourselves to pieces when he’s gone.”

You didn’t have an issue with that. It wasn’t going to be a problem on your part, unless George started picking on you openly. Behaving like a wayward baby was his thing.

“Goodbye, relaxing weekend!” you mumbled.

“Robert just sent an email!” you shouted over the TV noise. “We have a meeting next Monday with Hiddleston”

Becca scrunched her nose “Shit, goodbye period drama marathon, no?”

“Yes. I have to stalk this man’s Wikipedia and social media, and re-read some of his work so he doesn’t catch us off guard while negotiating.”

It was your standard practice whenever approaching a new writer for Midgard, and it usually took you three or four days. It had been one of Moira’s first recommendations, to always be prepared and one step ahead of them.

It also helped the authors feel like they were dealing with fans, instead of professionals, and it was easier to obtain a more beneficial deal when they were with their guards down.

“Uuuh, look” Becca pointed to the screen “Speaking of the devil…”

You sat by her side in the sofa, still holding your phone with Robert’s email open.

In some gossip program, they were going over Mr.Hiddleston’s latest scandal.

In a high-end party at a centric nightclub, he had hit in the eye another silver-spoon fed boy, Marcus Dankworth, son of a conservative MP and no one knew the reason why.

“See? We are going to have to deal with this asshole!” you exclaimed.

Becca shushed, wanting to hear the whole story.

A brief video revealed Dankworth being dragged outside the club by his friends to a black car, visibly angry and drunk.

“FUCK YOU, THOMAS! FUCK YOU, SON OF A-” he screamed, while touching his left eye, badly bruised. His nose was also bleeding and staining his shirt.

The camera panned to Tom Hiddleston.

He smirked lightly at Dankworth, and then he readjusted his navy suit jacket to smile at the paparazzi, who quickly swarmed around him.

“What happened, Tom?” “Can you tell us what happened?” they questioned, anxiously.

He laughed at the attention being displayed around him.

“Guys, guys… Nothing interesting. Gentlemen’s business.” he answered, in a calm but amused tone.

“At least, can you confirm if Marcus hit you back?” one cameraman asked.

He laughed again, then pointed at a little scratch under his cheekbone.

“Let’s say he gets bonus points for trying. Have a good night!” he waved.

After that, he descended a few stairs to a black Jaguar, stationed close to the nightclub’s entrance.

“I mean, he looks like kind of a jerk, but you gotta admit he’s hot” Becca said.

“I’m just going to review his books, I don’t care.” You mumbled.

“C’mon! You have to recognize at least that he’s better looking than most writers you have corrected” she smiled.

Still annoyed because of the man’s record, you had to give in that he has really handsome.

Following the report on the scandal, the program provided an extensive background in his life, decorating it with some photographs of his most recent Spanish vacations in a yacht.

He appeared in a swimsuit, tanned, emerging from a pool, completely wet.

“Ok, he’s handsome. Happy?”

The reality was that he had been blessed not only with talent, but also with outstanding genetics. He was tall and fit, like a Greek statue. He had broad shoulders, a defined 6-pack, and an enviable V-line, which made it pretty difficult to be objective. Especially when the swimsuit was adhering to his skin, and it seemed to become transparent in some areas.

To finish it all, he was attractive, with reddish brown hair, marked cheekbones, a masculine nose and a confident smile. But the detail that made him irresistible, and he definitely knew it, was his eyes. Some ancient sea god had decided to have fun with the rest of the mere mortals, and decided to made them as blue as the ocean. They seemed to glow, attracting all the attention in the frame of his slightly tanned face.

And you were going to see that arrogant Adonis next Monday at work. In a suit, preferably.

“You will have the opportunity to see if he is as cocky as it seems” Becca continued. “Maybe he’s different in short distances.”

“We’ll see. Robert mentioned that he has ‘red lines’ regarding his books. I just hope he brings money to the company and lets me do my work in peace.”

“I don’t know, girl. I think this is going to be interesting.”


	3. Murphy's Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything that can go wrong, goes wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tom's outfit:  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/BsJBPAEhrjt/?utm_source=ig_share_sheet&igshid=93oqcnu13pk1
> 
> His car:  
> https://www.pinterest.es/pin/437201076317773007/

Of all of the fucking days, today was the day to be fucking late.

And your day hadn’t started badly. Not at all.

You had woke up at seven, as always, to shower and prepare yourself.

You wanted to look extra professional, so you chose a formal black dress with flats, which you always changed in your office by a pair of black stilettos. (You loved the sound they made while walking around, it made you feel like a boss)

After putting on some light make up, you devoured two toasts and a coffee. Becca was still drawing her dragon-looking eyeliner when you crossed the door.

“I want all the fucking details tonight, bitch! Good luck!” she shouted from the bathroom.

“Have a nice day, my preciouusssssss!” you shouted back, imitating Gollum.

But then you arrived at the tube station, crowded as fuck. The line you always took to change close to the centre to another one that left you at Midgard had some “technical issues” today.

You cursed under your breath whatever issue they had. Your mind started calculating the time that it would take you to take an alternative route. Taking an Uber was out of the question, it would be too expensive.

Already in the tube, you tried to reach Amelia to warn her that you were going to be late, but your data didn’t work, when it usually fucking did.

You massaged the back of your neck that was starting to get stiff due to the tension.

To worsen things even more, your cheap headphones decided to die, so you were alone with your already stressed thoughts without a lovely music to accompany them. You grabbed tightly your briefcase, stuffed with your laptop, your agenda and a folder with extensive notes on Hiddleston’s work.

During the weekend, to cheer you up a little bit while you were working, Becca had amusingly suggested sticking some of his photos that adorned gossip magazines on the notes, but you ditched the idea quickly. She threw a few of the cropped images of him at you anyways, with jokes written on them.

You wished silently that staying late on Sunday studying that man’s writing paid off, if only you could not arrive so fucking late and embarrass Robert.

You concentrated in breathing through your nose, while controlling when you had to exchange metro lines.

The idea of making a bad impression was circling your brain like a snake around its prey, so you continued focusing on breathing when you landed in the last station.

Your distressed messages to Amelia finally sent, and you sighed in relief. At least, if she was under notice, she could delay the start of the meeting a little bit.

Whomever was in charge of the line you needed heard your mental prayers and you swore it moved faster than normal. You decided to stand close to the door to sprint to the headquarters as soon as you arrived. The phone’s clock marked 9:01. You hoped to be just 10 minutes late, throw excuses left and right and negotiate like a champion.

Emphasis on “hoped”.

After hearing the announcement of the station, you slipped through the crowd as quickly as you could, like a cat.

A fast check revealed that Amelia had just read your messages. Perfect.

Fresh air hit your face and you saw the entrance of the headquarters on the other side of the street, so you waited, impatiently, for the traffic light to turn green to cross.

And as soon as you set foot on the crosswalk, you heard the screech of some brakes and you saw a black car almost stopping at your knees.

You hit the hood of the car with your briefcase, completely enraged.

“ARE YOU FUCKING BLIND??” you shouted, while you ran, without even focusing on the driver “YOU COULD HAVE KILLED ME, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!”

A little bit sweaty from the race, you tried to regain your composure at the company’s elevator, checking for the fifth time the hour. 9:07.

Just after a few minutes later, you saw Amelia at the door of your office, nodding disapprovingly.

“Sorry! Sorry! I had some issues with the metro, and some asshole almost ran me over…”

She ignored your excuses with a look that said “save it for later”

“You are lucky Mr.Hiddleston hasn’t arrived yet. Robert is on the verge of a heart attack and George has chosen to wear the most _hideous_ tie. I need you to humiliate him a little bit so he changes it before he appears” she said. “Please.”

You changed your shoes quickly, leaving your flats under the drawers but still paying attention to her.

“Consider it done.” you answered, smiling.

It was always a pleasure to kick him in the shins. Figuratively, of course.

A few minutes later, Amelia, George and you were at the main meeting room, waiting patiently as Robert welcomed Hiddleston at the building’s entrance.

After asking if a monkey under the influence of psychedelics had designed his tie and a few sarcastic remarks more, George had finally complied and changed it for a more neutral one. He was sitting by Robert’s chair, as always.

He was a few years older than you, but anyone would have doubted it. He was of medium height (you could look at him eye to eye when wearing heels, another reason to use them), very pale and, for his misfortune, he had a growing bald spot on the back of his head.

But it wasn’t his appearance what made you despise him. It was his arrogance.

“Being-the-son-of” had landed him a very good position in Midgard after a mediocre trajectory in a few other publishing houses. He led the Marketing Department, and if he didn’t need to boost his ego humiliating workers, he was a decent superior.

However, when you first arrived, you remembered him making disgusting remarks about you, your body, your work and your brilliant position in the Review Department.

Until one day you cornered him.

You never mentioned what you had said or done to him, but Amelia saw past it and tolerated a tense truce between the two of you.

On the other hand, she was the most respected figure in the company, apart from Robert.

Amelia was the Executive Director. Firm and stoic, she was Shellman’s right hand. It was kind of an open secret that she would be the next CEO as soon as he decided to retire. However, he was stubborn and insisted on being the captain of the ship as long as he physically could.

You had a good relationship with Amelia, but it was far from being best friends. Nevertheless, you admired her leadership and her your hard work. She was walking by her seat, calmly going over the conditions of the Hiddleston contract.

You interrupted her train of thoughts.

“By the way, I love your dress. The colour really suits you”

She hinted a slight smile in response. “Thanks”

It was a midi green dress, fitted, with long sleeves and an elegant bow on one side of the neck. It matched beautifully with her dark skin and grey hair.

Suddenly, the three of you heard the doorknob twisting.

Robert entered the room, comfortably laughing, followed by Tom Hiddleston himself, who, it seemed, was telling the most funny anecdote.

“… I’m telling you, the girl hit me in the hood, and then ran away yelling nonsense- Oh, good morning, ladies.” he greeted, politely, and added, upon seeing George “And gentleman”

Jesus. Holy Jesus.

Robert presented George and Amelia to him, shaking hands, while you were still processing what he was saying.

He had almost run you over. You had hit the hood of Tom Hiddleston’s black Jaguar with your fucking briefcase.

FUUUUUUCK.

You froze, and then heard Robert saying your name.

“… and this is Miss Y/n, our lovely leader of the Review Department” he said.

Jesus, he was tall. Fucking tall.

You felt ridiculously tiny as you saw him approach you, flanked by Robert.

He wore a maroon three-piece suit, tailored to perfection, with a tie in a similar shade and a light blue shirt. He reached his left hand to you.

“Nice to meet you” he smiled, while shaking your hand. Shit, even his voice sounded elite, suave, and elegant.

You looked him directly in the eyes, only to immediately regret it.

His blue gaze was piercing, so much, you thought it could turn you into a poodle at his feet.

It looked right through you, and you feared that he could be able to read your mind or worse, recognize you as the girl that had probably damaged his super-expensive car.

“Pull yourself together, stupid bitch” you thought “BE FUCKING PROFESSIONAL”

“Welcome to Midgard, Mr.Hiddleston” you answered, secretly hoping your right hand didn’t start to sweat like a motherfucking fountain.

He narrowed his eyes, like trying to situate your face mentally.

“Don’t you…?” he started asking, retaining your hand in his a few seconds more than what it was considered normal.

To embarrass yourself even more, your cheeks started to redden. He wasn’t too close to you, but he could clearly see it. Having “GUILTY” written in your forehead would have been less excruciating.

“Do I…?” you tried to say. Your mouth was as dry as cardboard and your heart was beating like crazy.

After two seconds, he smirked. He knew. Of course he fucking knew.

Shit. Holy shit.

“Nevermind.” he smiled.

George scoffed.

“Well, shall we begin?”

You mentally thanked him while Hiddleston finally let go of your hand. Robert offered him a seat, between him and Amelia, who was already passing him a copy of the contract.

You sat by Amelia, still shook, knees weak.

What the holy fuck.

The next forty minutes passed terribly slowly. You stayed surprisingly quiet, taking notes and connecting to the main conversation from time to time, clauses and percentages mentioned here and there. It was also impossible not to hear George’s annoying voice asking for his Department’s piece of the cake, but you had more important things in your head at the time.

You observed how confident was Hiddleston negotiating, explaining his demands, not only because he was the one that had been contacted first, but also because he secretly knew that he had the upper hand.

And unbeknownst to you, you had presented it to him in a silver plate.

You bit your inner cheek nervously.

How easily could he throw in the conversation he was maintaining with Robert that her “lovely” employee had hit his car.

And the company’s situation was already too delicate to hurt it even more. Especially during such a crucial negotiation for Midgard’s future, which this man had the power over.

You felt the familiar sensation of your neck getting stiff due to the tension.

You would be fired. In the act.

You wanted to scream. Or cry. Probably both.

You leaned back in your chair, only to meet your gaze with Hiddleston’s, who was rubbing his lower lip with his finger, interested in something Robert was saying about you.

“…she is a more than capable reviewer” he continued, signalling at you with his open hand. “You won’t have any issues with her, or her department in general”

“I’m sure of it.” He smiled briefly at Shellman “I just hope she doesn’t have any issues with me hovering over her work while reviewing mine”

What.

The.

Fuck.

Did.

He.

Just.

Say?

“Excuse me?” you asked, straightening yourself in your seat. “I’m afraid I’m a little bit lost…”

Now it was Hiddleston’s turn to lean back, tilting his head while looking at you.

He was enjoying himself, the cocky bastard.

“Oh, darling, I was just stating to Robert that I take the message that my books transmit very seriously. I wouldn’t like any missing comma to lead to misinterpretation on my reader’s part, and that’s why I would like to _directly_ review every review, forgive the repetition”

Was he insinuating what he was insinuating?

He wanted to check every correction, every touch, to his beloved books, IN PERSON?

Of course, the entitled motherfucker.

You couldn’t believe your own ears, but before you could defend yourself and your work, Amelia spoke on your behalf.

“It isn’t the standard procedure here, Mr. Hiddleston. We can assure you that Miss Y/n is a professional in her own right and doesn’t need any external supervision of any kind.” she said.

Damn. That certainly rose your spirits. You took a deep breath, thanking Amelia with a silent nod.

“I’m sure you want to preserve your work as untouched as possible, Mr. Hiddleston, but I believe that my review on it would be much more exhaustive if I kept working on my own, as I’ve always done. In any case, I can keep you informed of every detail-”

He didn’t answer, but kept his eyes on you, still with that selfish smirk on his face. You pressed your legs together, uncomfortable at the feeling it generated on you.

“Y/n, everyone in this room knows of your skills, but I’m certain that you can make an exception with Mr. Hiddleston right here” Robert turned to you.

You pursed slightly your lips, feeling anger bottling up in your chest. You hated when Shellman used his patronizing tone, and it had been a tough day for you to hear it again.

“Yeah, Y/n” George seconded his boss.

You dedicated him your most deadly killer look, and he got smaller in his seat.

You weren’t going to tolerate more humiliation today, and certainly not George’s.

For a moment, you swore you heard Hiddleston chuckle.

“I can, and I will make an exception. As long as Mr. Hiddleston and I come to an agreement.” You finished, looking at him, firmly.

You had lost the battle, but not the war. You just had to think how to bore the man to death.

“It’s settled then.” Robert got up and closed his suit jacket. “We can sign whenever you like, Thomas."

He imitated him and shook his hand, warmly, again. George also rose from his seat to greet him, but he had already turned to Amelia.

“As soon as I contact my lawyer, I’ll send you back everything” he said. “Next Wednesday is ok?”

“Yes, of course” answered Amelia. “I’ll accompany you to our garage if you want, Mr Hiddleston.”

“There’s no need, darling, but thank you” then he paused, looking at you. “Actually, Miss Y/n, could you accompany me? Just to start getting acquainted with each other?”

You felt everyone’s gaze on you as you picked up your document’s folder.

“Yes, no problem.” You put on your fakest smile as you exited the meeting’s room, followed by Hiddleston and the rest of your colleagues.

Up close, you could even smell his cologne, which a bottle of it would be worth more than your apartment’s month rent. Very rich, kinda citrus-y and something deeper underneath, like sandalwood, maybe.

He just had discovered that you had probably fucked up his car and you were admiring his scent.

Focus, goddammit.

After a few kind words more with Robert and Amelia (and ignoring George), he pushed the button of the elevator while they were going back to their respective offices.

Amelia dedicated you a stern look: “You better not fuck this up” it said.

If she had associated Hiddleston’s anecdote and your quasi-run over this morning, you couldn’t say. But it wouldn’t be strange, she was very perceptive when she wanted to.

The elevator’s doors opened and he turned to you: “Please, ladies first”

You entered the compartment, feeling his gaze scanning you up and down.

He was going to mention the incident, you were sure of it, but why did he not use it on his benefit during the meeting?

The tension was eating you alive.

He pushed the garage button, while you hugged your document’s folder against your chest.

After a few silent seconds, he chuckled lightly and spoke.

“Well, there is an issue that must be addressed, isn’t it?”

Fuck.

You kept looking at the elevator’s doors, not wanting to look at his eyes.

“Is it?” you asked innocently, after swallowing. “About my future reviews?”

“Oh, no. Something…else. But don’t worry, we’ll talk about it shortly”

From the corner of your eye, you saw him looking for his car keys, and also getting a pair of black leather gloves out of his pocket.

Of fucking course. He probably was one of those guys that cared so much for his vehicle that would even sing a lullaby to it before going to bed, or something like that.

He exited the elevator before you, without looking back to check if you were following. He just assumed it.

Cocky asshole.

Still nervous but annoyed by his attitude, that was keeping you tense as fuck, you rolled your eyes.

You followed him till his precious black Jaguar, elegant and powerful, as the feline that took its name from. He stood there waiting for you, with a devilish smile in his face.

You were not going to let him have the high ground now. No.

“So, what was the issue that needed to be addressed?” you asked, with a confidence that was far from being real “I need to get back to my office”

“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t steal more than a few minutes from your time” he smiled, his hands in his pockets.

He passed his hand over the car’s hood, moving swiftly until it reached a little dent, almost invisible if you didn’t pay enough attention to it.

The proof of your crime.

“See this? It wasn’t here yesterday…and I wonder…Does it match with the briefcase that was at your feet during the meeting?” He looked at you, his blue gaze impenetrable.

Holy Jesus.

Yes, you had been that stupid of taking the briefcase with you to the meeting.

Your mind pondered the idea of lying to his face. Even with the fucking evidence in front of you. But again, his look on you made you uneasy to the extreme.

To make matters worse, your cheeks decided to redden. A-fucking-gain.

Well, fuck everything.

“Mr Hiddleston, I’m so so sorry!” You bursted, with a hand over your mouth, blowing your cover. “It wasn’t my intention at all! I swear! I wasn’t paying attention while crossing and I-”

“And you decided to pay it on me.” He continued.

“No, of course not. I was already running late and-”

“How unprofessional of you, Miss Y/n” he frowned, jokingly.

You pressed your lips when listening to his funny tone. If he wanted to laugh at your expense, he certainly hadn’t chosen the appropriate day.

“I had some issues with public transportation this morning. I’ve never been late to work in my whole trajectory here at Midgard’s” you stated, very seriously.

“Okay, okay. That doesn’t fix the dent on my Jaguar” he said, hands on his pockets.

You took a deep breath, your mind already calculating the cost of fixing the hood of such an expensive car. You would have to live out of packet soup three fucking months, or even more, but the idea of this man snitching on you to Shellman was worse.

“I’ll pay for any reparations needed, I promise. It was an awful mistake on my part.” You said, sincerely. “I wouldn’t want your partnership with the company to be ruined because of this”

He tilted his head, contemplating your offer. He touched his lips again, being concentrated in what you just had said.

After a few agonizing seconds, he laughed.

The motherfucker. You were offering your fucking salary to fix his fucking car and now he was laughing.

“I-” you started, angry.

“Oh, darling. I was just messing with you. I really appreciate your offer, truly, but I’ll have to decline. It’s just a little dent! There’s no reason to make a big _deal_ of it” he said, his eyes still on you.

“Then why all the interest of making me nervous for no reason. Asshole.” You thought.

“I’ll just need a proper apology and we’re done” he said.

Ok. That was easy.

“Of course.” you looked relieved, your savings untouched and your job safe. “Mr Hiddleston, I formally apologize in my name and also of Mid-”

He interrupted you again, raising a hand.

“Not to me, darling. To the car.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some issues with the format, but it is fixed now :)


	4. A Heartfelt Apology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, because shit is going down

You weren’t sure if you had heard him right.

He stared silently at you, waiting.

His face was completely serious and you couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

“You… want…me… to...apologize….to… your car?

“Yes, that’s just what I’ve said.”

What. The. Fuck.

In the past, you had dealt with some writer’s “extravagance”, like not wanting their books to be reviewed in red or the public release to fall on a Thursday, but this was completely new.

You looked at him, then to the car, back and forth, still processing his petition.

“He definitely is THAT passionate of his car” you thought, while raising your eyebrows.

“I mean, if you want to.” you said, in a low voice.

He observed you squatting next to the car.

“I’m sorry for hitting you, Jaguar…” you looked up at Hiddleston, for the complete name of the car’s model.

He had his arms crossed, with a hand over his mouth. Was it some kind of test? Or a proof? You didn’t know. But you were sure that he was laughing.

“F-type Coupe” he added.

“Whatever that is” you thought, completely annoyed by the whole surrealist situation.

You just wanted it to end, and quickly. You didn’t want any employee to appear and see you talking to a fucking Jaguar.

“I’m sorry for hitting you, Jaguar F-type Coupe. I promise it won’t happen again” you repeated.

Then, you looked up at Mr. Hiddleston again, in the same position. It started to hurt, to be at the car‘s height on fucking high heels.

But, to your surprise, he wasn’t done humiliating you.

“See? I think the problem is that it doesn’t seem sincere enough.” He caressed his chin.

“So? What do you want me to do?” you asked, already on the last strings of your patience.

“Kneel.” He ordered. “Please.”

Okay. THAT certainly was fucking enough.

“Oh, okay. I’m not doing that” you stood on your feet again, your cheeks burning with rage.

“I think this is just a funny joke to you, Mr Hiddleston. And I _also_ think that you are taking advantage of my situation here. I won’t kneel”

He cracked a malicious smile. Then he contemplated his black leather gloves as if they entrained some mystery he couldn’t fully comprehend, only to look at you once more.

“Then, what stops me to take that elevator again to Robert’s office and explain with every detail everything that you’ve done?” he asked “Since damaging my car to offering money to keep me quiet about it? How does _that_ sound?”

Your mouth felt completely dry.

“I haven’t offered-!” you exclaimed.

“Oh, you surely did.” He smiled. “From my point of view, your best option right now is to kneel”

You imagined hitting his arrogant head repeatedly with your document’s folder and also your briefcase, in order to match the hood of the vehicle.

You stood in front of him, silent.

“Well, if you don’t want to do it, I guess I’ll just let Robert know.” He started walking back to the elevator, without looking back at you.

Bloody bastard.

“FINE!” you shouted. “I’LL DO IT!”

He turned back slowly, with a sly smile on his face.

“I’m happy to hear that we have reached an agreement, Miss Y/n” he said, quoting your words on the previous meeting.

“Shut up already” you said between your teeth “Fucking posh boy”

As soon as he was back to your side, you kneeled. Carefully, in order not to rip your stockings or ruin your shoes, resting your butt in your heels.

You looked up at him once more, as briefly as possible, this time feeling as tiny and humiliated as you had ever felt in your life.

Jesus, this man could better start generating money. Enough to have the 500 employees of Midgard rolling on it.

“Please, proceed.” he ordered.

“I’m sorry for hitting you, Jaguar F-type Coupe. I promise it won’t happen again.”

After that, you rose again, quickly, and you lost a little bit of your equilibrium.

Hiddleston grabbed you by your arm, gently. But you weren’t in the mood for politeness. Especially not his.

“Let go of me!” you cleaned your knees and legs quickly, with one hand, while the other still held your document’s folder.

“Please, just let me hold this for you while you… recompose yourself” he offered.

From the corner of your eye, you saw him swallow, his arrogant façade a little torn.

You swore it seemed like he was …uncomfortable? He readjusted his tie.“Well, I guess we are even now?” he asked, but then something that was popping out of your folder caught his attention. “Um, what is this?”

Before he could even think, you snatched back your folder.

But the piece of glossy paper was already in his power.

It was one of Becca’s cut-outs of him.

Shiiiiiiit.

“If I had known…” you thought “I would have stayed in bed”

He observed it attentively, picking it with two long fingers.

“Oh my god” he laughed “You certainly are creative, Miss Y/n”

It was a cut-out of a photo of his holidays. Becca had found a magazine in which he appeared in a bath suit that fitted his ass in a very, almost obscene, way.

She had thrown it at you, and probably in the rush of making your notes it slipped between the other documents. As tired as you were last Sunday night, you didn’t check them.

The most painful detail was that, in your childish ways, you had overdrawn the silhouette of his ass with a thick black marker.

And also written “Hiddlebum” under it.

As a stupid joke.

Nothing could have saved you of all of this, and you hated it.

Maybe Earth could do you a big ass favour right now and swallow you whole right now.

Or a meteorite could crash, destroy Midgard and kill you.

Whatever option was fine.

Anything else, unless keeping embarrassing yourself and the company in front of this man.

“Paparazzi could improve on their use of Mediterranean light, don’t you think?”

No longer in control of your actions, you nodded in silence.

“I haven’t heard it before. “Hiddlebum”. I believe I have other better physical attributes.”

He almost gave the genuine impression of being annoyed that the magazine didn’t showcase other part of his anatomy.

He was just _that_ full of himself.

You regained a little bit of conscience and tried to grab the photo back, only for him to put it out of your reach.

“I’m sorry to-” you tried to mumble.

Sorry to what? Fucking what? FUCKING WHAT??

You hadn’t done anything right in the whole morning. Your mind was torn into maintaining some appearance of decency and starting to scream and cry in frustration.

“Don’t be. I’ll keep it as a souvenir of our incoming partnership.” He folded it in two and put it in the interior pocket of his jacket, still smiling. “I’m happy to see that you put _this_ level of attention into knowing the writers you review.”

Every word he uttered fell into your ears, burning its way into your brain.

“You have fucked up, big time, and be sure that I will use _all_ of this on my advantage, sooner or later.”

That was what he was transmitting to you, keeping himself so calm and collected.

He had complete power over you, and your situation and your job.

And it terrified you.

He had you fucking kneeling to his fucking car, for the love of god.

“Well, Mr. Hiddleston. I hope it is a fruitful partnership” you got to vocalize, while your hands left sweat marks in the document’s folder. Extra stickiness for the day.

He slapped this black leather gloves against his hand. The sound send a shiver down your spine.

“Oh, Miss Y/n. I’m sure of it.” He turned to the driver’s door. “We’re done”

That was the signal you needed to start walking towards the elevator, not having completely processed everything that had happened yet.

The powerful purring of the Jaguar’s motor flooded the garage, but you heard something more over it.

“See you this Wednesday, Miss Y/N! And remember to check if the traffic’s lights are red next time!”

Mr. Hiddleston nodded at you from inside the vehicle as a goodbye and left.

You stood there, alone, a few seconds, before entering the elevator to go back to your office.

How the fuck where you supposed to continue with your day after this WHOLE exchange?

However, you knew one thing: Becca would heard every single detail.

* * *

The rest of your office hours passed as slowly as the tense minutes of the meeting with Hiddleston, and it didn’t help that your mind replayed again and again everything that had happened, focusing in every single fucking detail.

You were distracted, and it showed.

Lizza, one of your reviewers, noted that 4 paragraphs of a chapter weren’t properly corrected. You had passed over them completely. “Oh my god! Thanks, I didn’t realize!” you said, while picking up the pages to check them properly on your desk.

She looked at you, baffled.

“Y/n, are you okay? It’s the third time it happens today.” she got up from her table.

“Yes, it is just that…Today is not my day, that’s all.” you smiled.

“Well, I hope it gets better. I’m going to get a coffee. Do you want one?”

“Yes, please. I’ll help me refocus”

While she was gone to the cafeteria, you checked your phone.

At lunch break, you had received a message from Becca.

**Hey! How it went??? Is he as handsome in person??**

**Hey! Pffff.It was a nightmare. And yes, he is handsome**

**And fucking tall. Like 1’90 or more**

**A nightmare? What happened?? He didn’t sign?**

**Oh yes. He is sending back every document this Wednesday.**

**But he wants to control ALL MY REVIEWS.**

**IN PERSON**

**WTF???**

**Robert asked me to make an exception with him**

**He can fuck off.**

**And that’s not the worst part.**

**Omg what more does he want?? A bow every morning??**

**I’ll tell you everything at dinner, it’s a long story**

**OK, see you then ;)**

There was still an hour left to go, but you could swore on anything that she would made a bowl of popcorn to munch on for today’s events.

Both of you loved to tell each other every little issue that happened at your respective places of work, but Becca complained that the main problems she usually had to tackle were pixels and mansplaining.

Apart from your past confrontations with George, the environment at Midgard was nice, and the relationships with and among the personnel were cordial.

You left out an audible sigh, thinking how Hiddleston’s future presence would alter the routine established in the Department.

First, being a good-looking celebrity. He would cause distraction. Any Midgard worker would use whatever excuse in the book to pass by and get a look, a photo or a fucking autographed copy of Suspiria.

Second, his personal remarks. The editorial’s criteria for reviewing was more than instituted, and in the light of the most recent events, Shellman was willing to bend them for Hiddleston’s convenience. The best way to cover your back on that area was to re-read the contract and find a legal loophole that allowed your final vision to prevail, tell Amelia and re-negotiate with Hiddleston face-to-face next Wednesday.

Third, thanks to your surprisingly bad luck today, he had undermined your authority, (with Robert’s help, but you decided to keep his paternal attitude out of the question, for now.) Especially with the whole “apologize to my car” charade.

You had been sorry for the car’s incidence. You weren’t prone to outbursts and that had been really embarrassing, but almost blackmailing your ass with telling your boss everything, just to get a simple reviewer _to kneel_ to a car in return? What the fuck?

Between that, his blatantly arrogant attitude and wanting to prevail his original writing over everything and everyone, you were sure that your “partnership” wasn’t going to be _idyllic_ , to say the least.

And yet, there was _something_ about him.

It annoyed you that he made you nervous, that he had been in control of the situation the whole time and openly exerting POWER.

And worse, you had bended to his will.

But it was time to hit him back.

Lizza came back and gave you a steaming cup of coffee. You took a sip of it while looking at the non-corrected paragraphs.

“Thanks a lot. Well, where were we?”

* * *

When you arrived home that night, you threw your damned briefcase on your bed.

Tired and with a contracture on the left side of your neck, you just wanted a hot, steamy shower and to leave your mind blank for a few minutes before going over everything that had happened today.

You knocked politely in Becca’s room, while she was typing something very aggressively at the speed of light. It was just to make her know that you had arrived home. After three years of coexistence, you had learned to discern when she was relaxed, probably playing, working regularly or working really stressed, by the sound of her keyboard. And it sounded a lot like the last option.

You picked your pyjamas from your room and closed the bathroom door behind you.

In contrast with the rest of the apartment, it was very minimalistic, in white tile, with a few details in grey steel, such as the faucet of the sink, the shower or the small cupboard in which you stored both towels and tons of products.

Before getting completely naked, you let the water run for a couple seconds to warm up.

You observe yourself in the mirror, one pimple menacing to appear on your chin. “Today’s not the day, motherfucker” you curse, out loud.

Already in the shower, you let the warm water jet hit your back, relieving the tension accumulated in the area.

As steam begins to form, you wash your entire body with a lavender gel that you only use on special occasions, but you decide to pamper yourself a little bit. You deserve it.

“Mmmm, yes I dooooo” you hum, smelling the bottle.

Now more relaxed, your brain wanders over less crappy details of your day.

The hot coffee you had while working.

Ticking all pending tasks from a list on your personal agenda.

The full plate of cheesy pasta you are going to dine.

Hiddleston’s hands.

Shit.

As if you had pressed a secret button, your mind started to relive his presence in the meeting.

How he leaned back on his chair, legs opened. How he licked slightly his lips to speak. His cologne when you passed past him leaving the meeting room. His defiant smile.

The view you had while on your knees, him towering over you. How easily could you have reached your hand, unzipped his pants and start sucking him o-

SHIT.

You pressed your back against the coldest wall of the shower, but the sensation only worsened the ache that was starting to grow in your core.

No.no.no.no.no.

“Let’s think of another. Just another man. Any other handsome man”

It had been a long time, though. Without sex, without any intimate contact of any kind. You didn’t have time, or didn’t want to make time for it. The last drunken hook-up you brought home had left you unsatisfied, and a sex toy did the job pretty well.

But months of subduing your needs were starting to pile up, and wanting to be grabbed roughly by the neck while being fucked over your desk was escalating quickly on your list of priorities.

You slipped your hand between your legs, and started playing slowly with your clit.

While doing so, you tried to concentrate in memories of past encounters, without concentrating in any one in particular. Random bodies you had undressed, random gazes you had felt on your lips, your breasts, your pussy.

However, there was a gaze that kept haunting you.

A piercing blue gaze.

“Don’t repress it” you could imagine his voice clearly, low and tempting.

“You know you desire it.”

Well, fuck it. You needed to release some tension.

Even if it meant to conjure such an asshole.

You weren’t hurting anyone.

You sped up the circles on your clit.

“Oh, you dirty little thing. Look at you. It wasn’t enough having you at my knees this morning? You need more?”

Just imagining his voice was making you wet as fuck, and you bit your lip trying to hold back a moan.

You imagined being in fours, over your office’s desk, your skirt up, legs parted, pussy open for him.

He would have been over you, mouth close to your ear while his hand was expertly fingering you, the thumb pressing the clit and one long finger teasing your wetness.

You slipped one finger inside of you, secretly wishing it was his.

“Look how wet you are for me. And your greedy pussy is only taking one finger. Get ready for more, darling, I’m just getting started”

Now you were moaning freely, wishing that the shower’s stream was powerful enough to cover your voice up.

“That’s right, baby. Louder for daddy. If you behave, you’ll get anything you want.”

He would have been heavy breathing against your neck, alternating kissing and biting it. With his free hand, he slapped your ass.

You couldn’t stand it anymore and slipped another two fingers inside of you.

“More, already? Needy little whore…”

“Fuck me, please, fuck me!”

“Only because you asked, princess”

You moved your fingers quickly, in and out, non-stop, imagining his dick coming in and out of you, one hand grabbing your ass and other grabbing your hair in a messy fist.

He kept a quick pace, his body slapping against yours, making such a dense and obscene sound that it could fill your office.

Your breathing quickened, his grunts while pounding your pussy deafening you.

“I..love..this…view…princess…I-I can’t…”

Your release was close.

Just… A few final strong strokes, slowly enjoying the ride of your incoming orgasm.

“Oh yess, baby… FUCK YES”

“Ohhhhfuckfuckyessss” you let out, moving your fingers like waves over your deepest core, extending your climax.

And as soon as it ended, he retreated from your mind. The whole scenario just vanished.

You tried to push back any second-thoughts about what you just had done.

Masturbating to a man you openly and vocally despised. Congrats.

Still panting, you heard Becca shouting from the kitchen.

“Y/n?? What the fuck?? Did you go down the drain or what??”

Well, almost.


	5. Bittersweet Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who gives it back to who?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was tempted to divide this in two, and make a cliffhanger, but I really wanted to move the plot forward, so, enjoy it. ;)
> 
> Also, a little gif(t) :
> 
> https://media.giphy.com/media/l0MYum9qjNPZ37QaI/giphy.gif

TOM’S POV

After closing the car’s door, Tom quickly put on his black leather gloves.

He always used them to drive, a custom his father had imposed on him.

“The most precious and dangerous things in life have to be treated with care.” he had said, and his son had always followed the advice.

He had also used them in more “private” activities.

But his father didn’t know.

He started the Jaguar’s engine to immediately turn the steering wheel right in order to leave the editorial’s garage.

She was still standing there, grabbing her folder tightly, her cheeks still red. And as soon as the motor made a sound, she looked a bit startled, like waking up from a dream, and turned back to the elevator.

“Not so fast, you little thing” he whispered to himself.

Tom lowered the window and shouted, over the noise:

“See you this Wednesday, Miss Y/N! And remember to check if the traffic’s lights are red next time!”

He saw her lips tense a little when looking back to him, her breast quickly going up and down.

She was either angry at him or scared by the sudden sound, Tom couldn’t tell.

Maintaining a straight face, he nodded at her as a goodbye and left Midgard, for now.

What a wonderful discovery in Shellman’s publishing house.

A spirited young reviewer.

A woman that put all her effort in looking pristine for her position, and probably in keeping her department working smoothly. Robert wouldn’t have appointed again someone of George’s nature at such a high place. He had learnt his lesson.

He had read her like an open book.

She was a workaholic that wanted to maintain everything under control.

And, according to his experience, the more you clinged to it, the more you enjoyed when you allowed yourself to let go.

It would be the utmost pleasure to guide her while doing so.

Just the memory of her, kneeling, looking up to him…

Gods.

He had contained himself before the vision of such a feisty creature at his feet. The dent in the hood didn’t even matter. If only she had known what was going through Thomas’ mind when she was apologizing…

Exerting dominance over her in such a tiny thing had turned him on.

_A lot._

While waiting on an unending red light, he stepped on the gas and the vehicle responded with a loud purr. He certainly needed a cold shower and his house was far from the centre. Speeding a little bit wouldn’t hurt anyone.

But out of the corner of his eye, through the rear-view mirror, Hiddleston captured something he despised.

Some paparazzo’s old, grey, rundown car. A tiny Volkswagen.

Tom recognized him as one of the most stubborn ones that he had ever dealt with. It was easy to spot them, their expensive cameras always sticking out, giving away their situation.

He may have followed him to his appointment in Midgard, and wanted something juicy to pay this month’s bills.

Hiddleston had understood very soon that his fame had inconveniences, but it was kind of a silent pact between the press and him to not annoy him during the weekdays. To let him have some resemblance of privacy.

He tilted his head slightly, waiting for the traffic light to turn green.

The cold shower would have to wait.

The second the green light blinked, he changed gears, the car’s engine purring loudly.

“Do you want a show? You’ll have it” he thought.

He quickly guided the vehicle towards the economic district of the city, which at that time of the day would be buoyant with movement, and it would be easier to lose sight of the paparazzo.

Thomas changed lanes a few times, looking back at the car that followed him. The man got confused because of the increasing traffic and the other high-end automobiles that started to appear. Despite that, he recovered the black Jaguar’s track.

“Shit” Hiddleston mumbled.

He turned left and after passing three vehicles, he entered a big parking complex.

He could feel the paparazzo getting excited by the idea of cornering him, because he had to pull over, didn’t he?

Not exactly.

This was the building where his personal lawyer usually left his car, and it had a special elevator that you could use in order to go up and down the different blocks without exhausting the engine.

And he knew the password.

In order to disconcert the photographer a bit more to gain a few minutes, Tom allowed him to follow him through a pair of decks, driving slowly.

“Well, enough of this cat-and-mouse game, asshole” he said.

He signalled that he wanted to park, so the paparazzo slowed down and started looking to do so as well, but Hiddleston suddenly accelerated while turning left on a corner.

Pulling the handbrake, the Jaguar screeched as Tom changed pedals quickly, entering smoothly the elevator.

Before the stunned journalist could even blink, he was entering the code to close the door and appear in other stage.

“Fuck you” he mouthed at him in an exaggerated way, while the door slowly closed.

He went all the way up and then down again, to the fourth floor, to exit towards the highway that lead to his home, this time without being “accompanied”

The race had certainly rose his spirits, and the cold shower looked even more appealing.

The pity was that you wouldn’t be there to release his hard-on.

A pity.

* * *

“Well, I didn’t expect _that_ ” Becca took a sip from a glass of white wine she had just poured herself.

“I know, right? I expected him to be an asshole, but not in this degree” you drank directly from the bottle. The liquid refreshed your throat after telling everything that had happened with Hiddleston.

“But I have already thought of a way of coming back at him. My reviews follow Midgard’s standards, and his objections cannot deviate from them _in excess_. His books would stick out like a sore thumb within our editorial line. I emailed Amelia in order to let him know that a new clause should be added to our contract, specifying-” you stopped. “Becca, are you even listening?”

She took another sip while deep in thought, and then smiled.

“Yes, it’s only that you look so fucking flustered when talking about him, it’s funny.”

“Becca! Maybe it’s because he has acted like he owns everything and expects everything to be catered to his wants and needs? And I don’t want to?” you exclaimed, letting yourself fall in the opposite corner of the sofa.

“I wasn’t talking about that. The way I see it, he has gone out of his way to tease you.” she rose her eyebrows “And he would continue to do so next Wednesday”

“But to tease me for what? What does he get in return?”

“Easy: a challenge. Maybe, if you didn’t value your job that much and just accepted to review his work without saying a peep he would have probably just mentioned the dent to you in private, you fix it and everyone’s happy. But now you have caught his attention.”

You took a long sip from the bottle, assimilating what your friend had just said.

“I don’t think I pose that much of a challenge” you scratched your head.

Becca rolled her eyes and finished her glass of wine.

“He’s a rich writer that could have anything or anyone he wants. And you just _dared_ to oppose what he wants, which is the firm control of his work. It’s automatic. And I would add, that he finds you attractive.” She moved the glass in your direction. “Gimme”

You poured her more wine.

“Like I’m his type. He prefers heiresses, you read it yourself in the magazines the other day. I still believe he just wanted to humiliate me and that’s all.”

“Y/n, being so modest doesn’t suit you. Just because you haven’t sucked a dick in months doesn’t make you less fuckable. You are a young, pretty and intelligent woman that defends her views. And by clashing with him, now sexual tension is served in a plate. Tale as old as time”

“Becca…”

“What? Am I wrong?”

“No, you just drank a lot” you chuckled a bit.

“Come on, like the idea of a dialectic battle with that man doesn’t turn you on. Or maybe a ‘physical’ one…”

You took another sip, remembering the scenario you had played on your head in the shower. Your cheeks reddened.

And Becca saw it.

“Awwwww! You horny bitch! He _does_ turn you on!” she started laughing, throwing her head back.

“NO!” you lied.

In your stubbornness, you wouldn’t recognize that in a million years. That someone like Hiddleston, who embodied entitlement, made some of your dirtiest fantasies resurface? Never.

“He turnssss you on! He turnssss you on!” Becca jumped in her position, slurring the words.

“No! Becca, for the love of god, you are going to stain the sofa!”

“Oookay, sorry, sorry”

She finished the last drop of her glass in a single chug and carefully put it in the table in front of you. Then, she got up on the sofa and started dancing, making waves with her arms, drunk-father-of-the-bride style.

“Y/n needs some diiiick, and she doesn’t wanna seeee, that Hiddleston is a cutieeee” she hummed.

The worst part was that it even sounded catchy. Amused by the situation, you looked at her, left the wine bottle at the table and danced by her side.

How did the saying go? If you can’t defeat them…

“I don’t need diiiick, just some tranquilityyy” you tried, without much success.

“That’s lame.” She stopped and got back to being seated. “Sounds like a granny”

“Yep.” You agreed. “I suppose I’ll let the tunes to you, goblin”

“Promise me that whatever happens next Wednesday, this weekend we go out. It’s been ages”

That was true. A very long period had passed without shaking your asses at a club.

“Sounds good.”

“And other thing”

“Mmm?”

“If I end up being right, and he ends up fancying your pretty ass, you’ll get me a signed copy of Suspiria”

* * *

Wednesday finally arrived, and with it, your overall nervousness increased.

You had repeated _ad nauseam_ what you wanted to say and how in order to come on top, but waiting on Hiddleston to appear was tensing you to the extreme.

Amelia touched your arm.

“I’ve never seen you this anxious over a negotiation. Are you okay?” she asked, genuinely worried.

You had made the mistake of drinking a stronger coffee that morning and the caffeine, which was supposed to keep you focused and quick, wasn’t helping.

“I’m fine. I just want to get this over with as soon as possible, I have a lot of stuff to do. And he is _late._ ”

Amelia checked her watch and crossed her arms.

“True. Well, maybe he is stuck in a traffic jam. The centre gets impossible some days”

“Who’s stuck in a traffic jam?”

The one that talked was Olivia, one of your reviewers.

She rested her back against the table while she was gently blowing her tea, wanting to catch up in whatever Amelia and you were talking about.

“Hiddleston is supposed to come here to finish debating some concerns about reviews and whatnot.” you told her.

“Oh, really? He is finally on board?” she asked.

Shellman had sent a circular to let his employees know that Tom Hiddleston was going to start working with Midgard. However, the economic problems had been left out of it to avoid “panic”. Amelia, George and you were also ordered to keep your mouth shut about it. You didn’t like it. They had the right to be informed.

Especially with cases like Olivia’s. She was five months pregnant with her second child and the last thing she needed was to end up unemployed because of Robert’s management.

“As soon as he signs, he will be” Amelia said.

“Nice! I really liked his boo-”

Olivia was interrupted by some movement outside the department. A few employees were lagging on the entrance because someone had seen Tom’s Jaguar at the parking’s entrance, and they wanted to see him.

The Review Department was in the centre of the building, two stages beneath the principal offices of Robert, Amelia, George and yours (even though you passed 80% at the time at the Department, you preferred working that way) the main meeting room and secretariat.

It looked like a fish tank, with tall glass walls that let natural sunlight in, and also revealed everything that was happening inside. 20 reviewers worked there with you, the majority of them women. The workspace had large reclining desks to properly proofread in A3 format each chapter of whatever book the editorial wanted to publish, with a chair and an adjustable lamp. Nonetheless, the star of the room was the coffee machine, which had a table by its side with mugs. Personally, you preferred the cafeteria, but it did the job.

“You told him to come here, didn’t you?” you asked Amelia.

“Yes, so he could be in your territory”

And then, all of the sudden, the elevator’s doors opened.

“Oh, shit”

That morning, Hiddleston looked fresh out of a magazine’s cover. He wore a blue suit with a white shirt underneath, without a tie, and grey shoes. He also had a little bit of stubble, but carefully trimmed.

God, it was going to be difficult to be concentrated today.

He quickly scanned the room and rose a hand as a greeting, the other grabbing a folder, probably with the contract printed.

As he got close to the department’s room, the space filled with commentaries on his appearance.

“Jesus, isn’t it me or is getting hot in here?”

“He just made my week.”

“What a hot piece of a-”

“Olivia! You are married!”

“So what? Not eating doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy reading the menu” she laughed, sipping her tea.

But when he opened the door, everyone quickly focused on their work.

You cleaned your sweaty hands against the fabric of your black jeans and tried to channel your “girl boss” self, as Becca had said.

“Easy said than done” you thought.

Amelia stepped in and shook his hand.

“Good morning, Mr Hiddleston! Nice to see you again.” she smiled kindly.

He cracked his most charming smile in return.

“Good morning, darling. I’m so sorry for the delay, I got caught up in a traffic jam.”

He knew the effect his voice had on people. You swore you could hear a few dreamy sighs among your co-workers after that.

Then, he looked at you. Up and down, and then he focused on your eyes.

Fuck.

“Good morning, Miss Y/n.” he shook your hand, firmly.

“Good morning, Mr Hiddleston.” you stood his gaze without backing down.

Let’s go, bitch.

You were ready to claim what was yours.

Amelia interrupted the tense silence that immediately happened.

“Well, shall we negotiate here or on your office, Y/n?” she asked.

“Wherever Mr Hiddleston feels at ease.” you smiled, using your sweetest voice. “Is it okay here? I usually work here.”

“Yes, of course.” He looked a bit taken aback by your attitude.

Good.

The three of you surrounded one of the free desks, a little apart from the rest.

You had already prepared with Amelia a new draft of the contract, and you had had the pettiness of underlining in pink the new clause that got your back.

You hold it in your hand, not showing it to him, yet.

“Miss Y/n wanted to meet in order to let you know some details that left untreated the past meeting. So, I’ll let her do the talking.”

Tom nodded, a hand touching his lips.

“Okay, I’m listening”

You licked your lips before starting.

“Well, Mr Hiddleston. First of all, I’d like to apologize for wasting minutes of your precious time dealing with this trifle, but I believe you’ll agree with me, and with Amelia here, that we should pay special attention to all the ins and outs of our agreement.” You stopped for a brief moment, touching your heart as if you were _really_ sorry.

“Because of my position, I know in depth the editorial line of Midgard, and one detail left unaddressed in the original contract is that the standards of the house must be maintained at all times.

To do so and not break with our company image, which is backed by several guides…” you made a theatrical pause again and rested a hand on the two thick notebooks you were mentioning.

Tom scrunched slightly his nose upon seeing them.

“…that detail how to maintain a certain format and quality, the modifications that you may want to make to my discretion while reviewing your books should be kept within the framework of the standard of all our previous publications.

To sum up, yes, you can object to my corrections, but within limits.”

OOOF.

THAT’S A GIRLBOSS MOMENT, BABY.

And to finish it with a blast, you tended the draft to him, the underlined part shining proudly in pink.

Amelia hid a smile looking at the sheet of paper over Tom’s shoulder.

He was silent, reading, his face ilegible, but you could bet your right hand that his mind was working at full capacity to look for any detail that could dismantle your position.

“Is Robert informed of this?” he asked, without lifting his eyes of the contract.

Of course, wanting to talk to the man in charge.

Typical rich boy behaviour.

Amelia responded for you.

“Yes, he agrees in leaving you full artistic liberty, but within the confines of our standards, and, in the end, Miss Y/n’s authority in the matter”

Your authority.

That final phrase made your ego grew like a happy plant, with all of its leaves turning to the sun.

“I have to re-read this-” he tried to say.

“Oh, of course! Take your time.” you smiled.

“Who’s kneeling now?”

He kept quiet for a few seconds, valuing all his options. Then, he directed his deep blue eyes at you.

“I recognize that wanting to impose my view over the quality guidelines was a bit of an absurdity on my part, but I still maintain my demand of coming in here regularly and keep a close eye in the correction process” he stated.

Wow, he was giving in. A little, but giving in at the end.

It surely tasted like victory.

“No problem.”

“Can I start today?”

WHAT.

* * *

You rested your head on your hand for the millionth time this day. The desk looked even comfortable to start sleeping on.

The workload had been almost unbearable today.

You had picked up some of Olivia’s pending tasks because she had a gynaecologist appointment. You couldn’t say no to her, but in your fixation with doing everything perfectly you had worn yourself out.

It was that weariness that resembled being drunk. It was hard to keep your eyes open.

To irritate you even more, Tom was spinning around on a stool looking at the ceiling, like a bored five-year old.

He had insisted in being called Tom.

“Because we are colleagues now” he had said.

“Bicisi wi iri cilligis niw mimimimi” you mumbled, out loud.

“Yes?” he asked, from his desk.

“Nothing. Shouldn’t you be home already?” you asked back. “You don’t have to be here this late”

Everyone had already left the building, except the print workers that had night turns.

“Yes, but neither Amelia nor Robert gave me the code to close the entrance. So I’m waiting for you.” he smiled, while finishing his millionth paper crane.

He had explained to all the department how making them helped him focus to write.

And by the third one you wanted him to eat them. They were everywhere.

During the day, Hiddleston had only hindered the normal work rhythm. As you had predicted, at least 30 workers had “passed by” to say hello, get their Suspiria copy signed or even take a selfie with him.

And the thing that annoyed you the most was how _kind_ he had been with each and every one of them. Smiling and laughing. He had even touched Olivia’s belly, for the love of god.

You were convinced that it was either his cool-writer façade or that he enhanced it more to provoke you.

“Well, let me just organize this and-OUCH”

A sudden flash of pain travelled through the left side of your neck and your shoulder.

Last Monday’s contracture had worsened, considerably.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked.

Oh my god, he even _sounded_ worried.

What an actor.

“I’m fine” you said, between your teeth. “It’s just a-OOOUCH”

Just moving your arm sent thousands of little white needles of pain through the whole area. It hurt, a lot. You bit your lip as strongly as you could, trying not to whine again.

Tom quickly stood up and got close to you, behind your chair.

“Y/n, what happens?” he asked, in a very serious tone.

You turned your chair a little bit and looked at him, with squinty eyes, both of tiredness and pain.

“It hurts a lot. Here.” you confessed, your other hand gripping the area in question.

“May I? “ he asked, and gently released your tense muscles from your grasp.

If you had been more lucid, you would have rejected his touch, his help offer, with a sarcastic remark. But you were so fucking tired…

So you let him.

He pressed very lightly the palm of his hand against the contracted area, and you whimpered.

“Jesus, Y/n, you have a Gordian knot here.”

“Gordian knot my ass” you muttered.

Fucking posh boy with his posh references.

He chuckled, massaging your shoulder over your blouse.

“Are you always this grumpy?”

“Yes, always.” you answered, dryly.

His left fingers started pressing the base of your neck, releasing tension, while his right hand worked making circles on your shoulder.

You hated to admit it, but it was helping. His hands were a little bit warm and applied the right amount of pressure, and you could feel the pain disappearing. You could even close your eyes for a brief moment…

“Whatever you say, princess”

Shit.

“Don’t call me that!”

“Okay, princess. Can you turn your head a bit?” he asked, still teasing you.

“Hiddleston, don’t call me that” you tried to sound convincing, but you were starting to feel very relaxed and his touch didn’t help.

“Okay. Could you turn your head for me, please?” this time you obeyed, feeling his long fingers on your jaw. “And could you open the blouse just so I can manoeuvre better?

You blindly obeyed again, opening one of the buttons.

Now skin to skin, Tom rubbed again your left shoulder, much less tense now, and passed two fingers softly over your pulse.

Then, he brushed over your collarbone, and a heat wave travelled from your chest towards the rest of your body.

“Okay, good girl” he whispered “You’ll be fine in a minute”

SHIIIIIT.

What the fuck was he doing??

Heat was starting to concentrate between your legs, so you pressed them together.

“If you tense again, all I’ve done would be for nothing” he said, in a low tone.

“I-it is just that-” you started, but couldn’t finish the sentence.

Hiddleston grabbed delicately your neck and made you look up, resting your head against his body.

You weren’t sure why, but his eyes looked darker, his pupils bigger.

“I have to call a taxi to get home” you whispered, in a nebulous haze.

He smirked.

“I can take you, if you want”

Suddenly, he made the chair turn so you were now facing him. He rested his hands in each of the armrests, terribly close to you.

“I insist”

You could feel his breath on yours, his gaze altering between your eyes and your lips, still parted in awe after the instant movement.

And before you could answer, his mouth was clashing against yours.

A little voice, lost in your brain, a remnant of your conscience, wondered what the fuck _he_ was doing, what _you_ were doing.

Another, a darker one, was determined to bite his lip, to explore with the tongue his taste that lingered a bit of coffee.

And you acted on those desires.

His breath quickened after the bite and Tom kissed you back passionately, grabbing your face firmly.

He also started kissing your neck, leaving hot traces on your skin, up and down.

You moaned, and he chuckled on your ear.

“I really needed to hear that.”

You could feel the heat everywhere on your body, your blouse was now almost open.

Hiddleston quickly undid the clasp of your bra, and you heard it fall somewhere.

He grabbed one of your breasts, looking at them intensely.

“Beautiful” he whispered, kissing you ardently again.

“Oh god” you managed to say against his mouth, while he picked you up from the chair and carefully made you rest against the reclining desk, his knee pressing between your legs.

You swore he could _feel_ how wet you were.

For him.

He kept kissing your neck repeatedly, until you tried to speak.

“T-Tom” you trembled.

He was now playing with your nipples, openly sucking and biting, expertly torturing them.

“Shhhh” he ordered “I’m going to make you feel good, princess. As soon as you want me to stop, just say so.”

You nodded in silence, and he smiled.

“Good girl.”

You tried to hold back the rush it caused on you his praise, but your cheeks reddened.

Then Hiddleston pulled down your pants, and your panties went down with them.

“You poor, neglected little thing. So, so wet already…” he teased you, passing a finger between your folds. “Lean back.”

He got on his knees and made your weight rest on his shoulders, grabbing your thighs.

You heard a few papers crumble against your back, but you didn’t care much.

And, without any more warning, he started eating you out.

Tom passed his tongue over your parted pussy, testing your wetness. Next, he started sucking on your clit, relentlessly, while his hands still caressed your thighs.

You could feel yourself dripping, not holding back your moans, your hips wanting to move in unison with his mouth.

“Oh fuck, yes, oh fuck…”

He looked at you from below, enjoying the view, and slipped one finger inside you, moving it at the same pace he sucked your clit.

“That’s it, baby. Cum for me.”

You could start to feel the rise of your incoming orgasm, and Tom increased the rhythm. The grip on your thighs was also stronger now. And would probably left bruises of his fingers. Again, you didnt mind.

He curled his finger inside of you, expertly touching your deepest core.

“Fuckyesfuckyesooooooohyes” you mumbled.

You arched your back, not able to take it anymore.

“Cum for me.” he ordered, his voice dark and enticing.

“OH YES TOM FUCKFUCKFUUUUUCK”

You moved your hips against him, wanting to savour it as long as physically possible.

God, it had been ages since someone had made you feel this _good_.

And as soon as your climax ended, you fell unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna go touch some grass now.


End file.
